There lived a boy called Bell,
Who was taken away.
Into a small, dark corner
He was made to stay.

Once he broke silence.
A pure song he sang out.
Only, then, for many days
They made him ring out.

They called the coroner
On a dreary, dismal night
When they found him
Worn down and eyes without light.

And so, there Bell died
Without so much as a sound.
No one had cried,
Not even the hound.

But just one had noticed
And decided to take pity.
Upon the young dead boy,
Gazed a snow white fairy.

She gave to him life,
Or, at least, of a sort.
The side of a golden bell
Became his new resort.

Whether you believe me,
If such a tale rings sour,
It matters not when
That bell rings out the hour.

Try it, go up there,
You’ll see wandering its shell
Forever just circling it,
The poor boy once called Bell.

You’ll ask if it was better
For him to have just died
Rather than have been saved.
Well, that is for you to decide.


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